


Life's A Picnic Affair

by CynthiaK2014



Series: Man from Uncle [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynthiaK2014/pseuds/CynthiaK2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picnics can even be found in the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Picnic, part one

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written and posted on my website back in 2001 under my pseudonym Athea Holmes. It's held up pretty well.

Life’s a Picnic Affair  
Part one  
******************* 

Illya arched an eyebrow at the scientist across from him. “And you thought you’d find . . . what exactly?”

The man blustered out a few sentences before falling silent. Illya cast another look around the remains of what had once been a working laboratory. At the moment, the charred remnants of tables and stools were all that was left. Under their feet, shards of glass retorts crunched and each step raised small gusts of ash that then floated about them like the down off a dandelion.

“Everything is to be gathered up and transported back to headquarters so we can be sure that nothing is left for THRUSH to find.” He directed the clean up crew and they nodded once before getting to work. Turning back to the crestfallen man who’d just seen six months work go up in smoke, he paused a moment then shook his head. “Dr. Kent, I’m afraid that you will need to report to Mr. Waverly. Right now. After you, please.”

Motioning him out to the corridor of the building that UNCLE rented for laboratory space, he nodded once to the security team who took Dr. Kent away to their car. Stepping back into the ruined lab, he shook his head at the totality of the destruction. A chirp from his pocket brought his hand to his breast pocket and he unclipped the silver wand to answer it.

“Yes.”

“No, no, you need to say more than that.” Napoleon’s voice chided him.

“But you know who I am so why must I announce myself?” He teased right back.

“Rigid Russian.”

“Decadent American.”

“How much longer will you be?”

“I’ve done as much as I can here. Why?”

“I thought I’d pick up some Chinese take-out since it’s my turn to cook.”

“Why is it that lately when it’s your turn to provide dinner, we usually get something from a restaurant?”

“Because I’m too tired to cook?”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, Illyusha.” The softly spoken name caressed his ears and Illya was glad that he’d stepped out into the empty hall and walked down the stairs. “And if I’m very lucky, I’ll be too tired tomorrow as well.”

“Ah, then I will enjoy Chinese tonight. Lemon chicken for me.”

“Half an hour?”

Illya checked his watch. “Yes. I’ll be there. It’s too bad the back yard is such a mess. The weather is perfect for a picnic.”

“Picnics are highly over-rated. Full of bugs and dust that gets in everything.”

He chuckled. “I can see that you’ve never been on a proper picnic.”

“Really? One of these days, we must try out your version. Solo out.”

Illya put away his communicator and stepped out to the street just in time to catch a cab. The traffic seemed nonexistent and in fifteen minutes he was getting out at the brownstone that had become home three months before. Shaking his head at the unbelievably fast trip, he let himself in and checked the message board in the front hall. They’d placed it there after Mark had returned the first time so the three of them could coordinate the public rooms of their home.

Mark was still in South America so Illya went on up to the second floor, hesitated then went on up to the third and the pull-down stairway to the roof. Poking his head out, he viewed the tar paper roof and the spot he’d picked out on their initial reconnaissance. The chimney provided a buffer to the north and the air conditioning unit a wall of metal to the south. The walls between the brownstones to the east and the west were four feet high and none of their neighbors seemed to ever go up onto their roofs.

Stepping down carefully, he went into the bedroom above his where they’d moved the unwanted furniture. The six-foot Oriental rug was still there, rolled up in a corner and he picked it up. Back onto the roof and he spread it out in the niche. Two more trips added pillows, a battery operated radio, the ice bucket from the kitchen filled with ice, two wine glasses and a bottle of Akidama Plum wine that would go with the Chinese.

Back in his bedroom, he barely had time to change to jeans and his favorite blue sweater before he heard Napoleon’s key in the lock. Coming down the stairs, his eyes met his partner’s gaze and he almost blushed at the heated look. Two more steps and Napoleon was pulling him into his arms and their third kiss of the day. Each one was different but this one was more anticipatory than the earlier ones. Because this one would lead to making love, something that Illya anticipated with more confidence as time went on and Napoleon didn’t seem to tire of him.

The heat from the sack against his back reminded him of his picnic plans and he drew away slowly, leaving his hands on his partner’s arms and looking up into the sultry gaze of his lover. “I have an idea.”

“Is it a good idea? Does it have anything to do with whipped cream?”

“Not at the moment but I’m open to suggestions.” Illya smiled at him. “In my off duty hours, I am working on being more spontaneous since you need me to be predictable on the job.”

“Spontaneous? That sounds like fun.” Brown eyes sparkled into his. 

“I will take the food and you will change clothes so you are comfortable. Maybe the white shirt with the full sleeves?” Illya mentioned the shirt that Napoleon had bought in Switzerland.

“And then?” Napoleon followed him while he backed up into the living room.

“Then I will come to get you and we will eat dinner.” Illya let go and took the bag from him.

“Change clothes and eat dinner, I’m not seeing anything new here.” Napoleon complained. 

Illya stuck out his lower lip, the way Napoleon often did when he wanted his own way. His partner groaned and covered his eyes with a histrionic sigh. “Not the pout! No fair using the pout.”

“Then you’ll change clothes?” 

“I’m going, I’m going.” He mock grumbled all the way up the stairs.

Illya grinned and hurried to the kitchen with the bag. Using a long, narrow stainless steel tray he’d found in one of the cupboards, he spooned out rice in the middle then bordered it on each side with his lemon chicken and Napoleon’s Mongolian beef. Putting the silverware in his hip pocket and grabbing some napkins from the counter, he hurried up the stairs to meet Napoleon coming out of the bedroom that had quickly become theirs. 

“We’re eating in bed? Why did I have to get dressed?” His partner teased him but Illya just kept moving up the stairs, throwing in a little more hip sway than he normally did.

“You’re absolutely right, Illya. I definitely see something on the menu that I’m really hungry for.” Napoleon’s hands found their place on his hips, their heat warming him even through the denim.

“Keep going, Pasha and I shall drop our dinner.” 

“Don’t do that, Illyusha. I think we’re both going to need our strength.” The feeling of warm hands on the bare skin under his sweater made Illya shiver.

“The roof? We’re eating on the roof?” He steadied Illya who couldn’t use his hands on the narrow pipe that served as a railing for the steep steps.

Illya made it to the top and onto the tarred roof before turning and looking back at his partner, suddenly unsure that his surprise would be something that Napoleon would want. “We don’t have to, Napasha. It was just an idea.”

“And a very good one.” Napoleon took the tray from his hands, his gaze busy on the small tableau that Illya had set up. “If this is your idea of a picnic, I take back every bad thing I ever said about them.”

“Really? It is all right to eat outside? I thought that no one would see us and we could be private.” Illya followed him to the carpet and removed the silverware before he sat down.

“It’s perfect.” Napoleon stole a quick kiss before setting down the tray and sitting down cross-legged with the chimney as a backrest. “Just like you are.” 

Illya blushed and joined him, busying himself with opening the wine. “I am not perfect, Pasha.”

“You’re perfect for me, Illyusha.” Napoleon leaned over and pulled Illya into a deep kiss that shortened his breath and made his head spin. When he thought he would pass out from the pleasure, Napoleon pulled back just far enough to look at him. “I love you. There are moments when I want to say that right out loud in front of everybody.”

“When we are ready to quit UNCLE, Napasha, I will take great delight in saying it in front of the entire secretarial pool.” Illya grinned at him before handing him both glasses so he could pour their wine.

They were too high up to have to worry about the smells of the streets and traffic; the breeze drifting over them was cool and fresh. After being inside most of the day until he’d been called to the fire scene, it was a joy to take a deep breath and hold it in delight. He missed the outdoors more and more every year. The job took them to cities all over the world but after awhile; they all began to feel the same. And smell the same. There were days when he wanted to walk in a forest like the one where he’d lived until the gulag.

“A penny for your thoughts, love.” Napoleon was sipping the sweet wine and watching him.

Illya shrugged and reached down for one of the slices of the chicken, dripping with lemon sauce. “Just wishing for the moon.” He took his first bite and closed his eyes at the sweet-tart taste. “I’d forgotten how much I love this dish. I wonder how hard it would be to cook?”

Napoleon took custody of his hand and licked Illya’s fingers clean, sending little lightning bolts from his damp fingers straight to his groin. “If I could . . . give you . . . the moon . . . you know I would.”

“I know you would, Pasha. It’s silly but I was thinking about how much time we spend indoors. I miss the forests of my homeland. The freedom to walk and walk for hours and never see another human.” Illya hadn’t allowed himself to even wish for such a dream so he was surprised at the longing in his own voice.

“I never wanted solitude until the war. Then I would have given my left arm for an hour of peace and quiet all alone where the sound of guns couldn’t be heard.” Napoleon sighed, his brown eyes meeting Illya’s. “We need some time away, don’t we?”

“It would be nice but there is so much going on. And we have the five new agents to train.” Illya leaned back against the brick chimney and looked up into the soft white clouds drifting above them. “Someplace where there’s bird song instead of honking horns.”

“Where the wind blows the sound of falling leaves instead of an argument from down the block.” Napoleon’s eyes were unfocused

“Where the ground is earth and leaves instead of hot, hard concrete.”

“And where the only creatures who might see us having a picnic are the squirrels and birds.” Napoleon sighed and turned his head to look at Illya. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“With my life and heart, Napasha.”

“I’m greedy. I want them both.” His eyes went hot and sultry.

“You have them.” Illya smiled and fed him some of the Mongolian beef.

“Good. It’s only fair since you have my heart all ready.” Napoleon was back to licking Illya’s fingers and the ache in his groin was getting harder to ignore.

Napoleon smiled and upped the ante, sliding the long sleeved sweater up to his elbow and nibbling his wrist. Illya kept finding new erogenous zones to respond to. He’d never known that his left wrist was hard wired straight to his cock. But it was the needy look on his lover’s face that brought his mouth over to slide over the slightly bristly cheek and down to the lips that he’d wanted for so long and never thought to taste.

They kissed deeply then broke apart at the same moment, remembering where they were. Illya fed him bits of beef while Napoleon hand fed him his chicken strips dripping in sauce. It was amazing how many dribbles he had to lick from Illya’s chin, cheek and even his throat. Surprisingly, they finished dinner before their restraint gave out.

Gathering up the debris took only two trips with both of them carrying in. Illya was cleaning the remains of the rice into the garbage while Napoleon recorked the bottle of wine and put it in the fridge. Loading the tray into the dishwasher along with the dishes from their last two days of eating, he put in soap, closed the door and set the dial to start in an hour.

“I like the way you think, Illya.” Napoleon slid his arms around his waist. “We need the hot water first.”

“I think we do.” Illya turned in those strong arms and smiled. “I feel . . . sticky.”

“Not as sticky as you’re going to be.” Napoleon grinned and began pulling him towards the stairs.

“Promises, promises.” Illya teased back. “You never did say what your plan was for our vacation.”

“It’s a surprise.” He grinned ruefully. “It’s going to take some careful planning. Only beautiful Russians are allowed to be spontaneous in this house.”

“Then you liked my picnic?” Illya removed his sweater with a little help from his lover.

“I loved your picnic. If fact, I can see a lot of them in our future. Although we may have to share them with Mark and April occasionally.” Napoleon steered Illya into the bathroom, ‘helping’ him with the zipper on his jeans. 

“How shocking, Napoleon. I don’t think I could feed April Mongolian beef with my fingers.”

“I’m the only one you can feed with your fingers, Illyusha. It’s part of our agreement, the one we wrote in Switzerland.” His voice was possessive and Illya felt that frisson of danger that he always acquainted with Napoleon.

“Yes, Pasha. And I think I am the only one that you can hand feed, also?”

“Damn right, love. It goes both ways.” Napoleon growled and finished pushing off Illya’s jeans while Illya was still unbuttoning all the buttons on his shirt. “I’ll finish undressing if you’ll run the water. Otherwise this bath will be over before it gets started.”

Illya was half-hard already with an ache that only Napoleon could assuage. He nodded and twirled the knobs that mixed the water in the over-sized bathtub that they loved. They'd bought several containers of the spruce bath oil that was a specialty of the Inn. They hadn’t lasted long but now the Inn just sent a new bottle every four weeks and charged Napoleon’s credit card. It was one of their extravagances along with the raspberry chocolates that Illya bought every few weeks at a small chocolate shop near the library.

“When did you get this bruise, Illya?” A finger traced a spot on his hip that Illya had to twist to see.

“No idea, Pasha. Maybe at the destroyed lab? I certainly didn’t feel it until now.” Illya slid into the rapidly filling tub with a sigh of bliss.

“Didn’t Dr. Keyes recommend more vitamin C to help with bruising?” Napoleon slid in facing him, taking the bar of soap from the holder. “New soap?”

“It’s eucalyptus. April brought it back for me from England. It’s made in Salisbury.” He smiled affectionately at his worry-wart of a lover. “And yes, I have increased my intake of vitamin C, Napoleon. I’m fine.”

“I know you are, Illya but sometimes I worry.”

“Yes, you do.” Illya slipped his hands over the legs on either side of his, loving the way he could expose himself to his lover without the fear that he would be taken advantage of. He could trust Napoleon with all of him and that made him more free than at any point of his life. “But the virus is gone, my balance has returned and the only time I get a fever is when you make me so hot that I combust.”

“Explosions are our team’s specialty and we’re very good at them.” Napoleon pulled Illya closer so he sat on his thighs.

Curling his legs around Napoleon’s narrow hips and waist, he kissed his lover tenderly. Their cocks continued to harden as they bobbed and dueled in the steamy water. Hands slippery with soap cleaned and caressed at the same time. Illya laughed breathlessly as knowing fingers slid down his cleft and tickled the nerve rich area. They were going very slowly in their lovemaking but Illya found that this particular stroke enticed rather than frightened him.

It helped that Napoleon liked it too. Illya had discovered that when he had his lover’s cock in his mouth, he could finger the perineum and even, the hidden opening with a wet finger. Napoleon’s thrusts always sped up then and he nearly always came quickly. It was a heady feeling to know that he had the power to so affect his partner.

This time though, Napoleon didn’t seem to be stopping with a gentle stroke. His left hand was rolling his balls with a gentle touch while his right index finger was dipping inside just to the first knuckle before pulling out again. Illya tried to relax and let it happen but he still feared this penetration and it was difficult.

“Relax, love. Never anything you don’t want, remember?” Napoleon’s lips traveled down his throat to the spot that always flared into instant heat with a little pressure.

“Make it right, Pasha. Take away the fear.” Illya tilted his head so his lover could reach that little spot . . . just . . . there. “Yes-s-s.”

“Maybe if I told you each movement before I stroked? You seemed to like that back in Switzerland.” Napoleon licked that spot again then blew a cool breath across it.

“Yes, make love to me with words as well as hands.” Illya resolved to give up control completely.

“I can do that, my beautiful love. But I need more room to maneuver so we’re just going to have to finish our bath and go to bed.” Napoleon drew back just far enough to see his eyes. “After all, you’ll remember that I keep getting too tired to cook for some reason.”

Illya laughed at him while he slid back and put the soap in its holder. “We can just go to sleep, Pasha. I keep forgetting that since you are older, you need more sleep.”

“Why you little . . . get back here, you little menace.” He mock growled as Illya stood and hopped out of the tub.

“I think you must come and get me, Pasha.” Illya fled to the bedroom with a laughing lover behind him.


	2. Picnics, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picnics sometimes come with toys.

Illya sprang into bed and prepared to be tickled. Napoleon didn’t waste any time in joining him, his fingers going unerringly to his sides. They wrestled tenderly, drying themselves on the comforter and Illya ended up on top of his lover while laughing uncontrollably. Slowly, Napoleon gentled his tickling to stroking and this time their shortness of breath was for very different reasons.

He’d never known that laughter could be a part of passion but Napoleon was constantly teaching him new things. For a moment, he wondered how he’d gotten here. What had he done to be so blessed? “Pasha, what are we doing?”

“We’re making love, Illyusha. Something that you’re teaching me every day.”

“I’m teaching you?” He frowned and Napoleon smiled ruefully, his dark hair disheveled against the white linen pillowcase.

“I knew plenty about sex, love, but this is so far beyond that . . . I’m not sure what to call it. You make me feel ten feet tall and empowered with godlike capabilities.” He cupped Illya’s jaw and ran his thumb over his lips.

“Oh, I thought I was the only one who thought that.” He nipped the salty skin and watched Napoleon’s eyes darken.

“Nope, we’re in this together and that’s just the way I like it.” Napoleon hugged him closer and let his hands wander lower and lower until they rested on the skin at the base of his spine. “There are about a million nerve endings here. And if I could, I would tease every . . . single . . . one into aching arousal. Your skin is so soft and there’s the slightest hint of down beneath my fingertips.”

His fingers ghosted down Illya’s cleft and his legs fell naturally to either side of Napoleon’s, their cocks nestled together only half-hard at the moment. “Do you remember how it felt when I licked you all over? Hm-m-m, do you?”

“Oh yes, Pasha, I remember.” Illya had to blush at the memory. Napoleon hadn’t done it again and he’d thought that perhaps he’d regretted it.

“It’s called rimming and the only reason I haven’t done it again is because there was so much else to do that there hasn’t been time. But tonight, I want to do it again. May I, lover? May I touch you and taste you wherever I want?”

Illya couldn’t have said a word if his life depended on it. He just nodded and gave over control to his partner. Napoleon kissed him again, a long wet kiss that involved significant tongue. He’d grown to love all the varieties of kisses that his lover was introducing him to. Sergei hadn’t taught him to kiss and he’d never known that men could.

And when Napoleon rolled him onto his back and began to trail his kisses lower, he enjoyed the teasing laps at his nipples and the tickling prickles of his evening beard against his navel. The strong steady sucks of his cock brought him to a pleasing hardness that Napoleon drew out for long moments before moving lower still to gently take his balls into his mouth and roll them back and forth.

By now, Illya was babbling in Russian again and the first lick against his opening sent him into silence. The world narrowed to Napoleon’s tongue and the wicked jabs that softened and opened him up for his lover. Once he could feel the opening spasming open and shut, a wet finger slid into him at the same moment Napoleon’s mouth took his balls in again. He was trembling uncontrollably and thrashing his head back and forth on the pillow.

“Oh, love, you are so beautiful in your passion. Come for me, Illya. Show me how much you love me.” Napoleon’s mouth descended on his cock at the same time his finger found that gland inside of him, stroking within and sliding all the way down so he was encased in his throat. 

The tight, hot, wet throat that was swallowing him again and again until he had to let go. Let go and come into Napoleon’s safe keeping. He felt as if his spine had melted and all of his muscles had lost their elasticity. Gentle murmurs kept him conscious, that and the tender licking of skin too numbed to really feel it.

“Napoleon. Come up here.” He finally managed to whisper.

His lover slid up and took him in his arms. “You are delicious everywhere, Illyusha. Thank you for letting me play.”

“Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Pasha. What can I do for you?” 

Napoleon’s cock was drilling a hole in his hip. “Well, are you up to playing a little more?”

Illya looked at him. “What did you have in mind?”

Letting go of him, Napoleon sat up and opened the bedside table drawer. He drew out several items that Illya didn’t recognize. One was a tube of something, perhaps a cream but the other was slender and slightly curved. “What are they, Pasha?”

“I dug out some of my old toys when we moved. Every once in a while I’d crave the stimulus that only a male lover could give. It’s kind of awkward taking care of myself but I’m pretty limber so I managed.” Napoleon was opening the tube and squirting out something creamy. “But now I’ve got you and I think it’s time you learned how to play. This is called a dildo and it’s especially handy for stimulating men.”

Illya watched in fascination while his lover smeared the white cream all over the slender black . . . dildo. But when Napoleon rolled so his back was to him and began to insert it into his rectum, Illya cried out. “Pasha, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“No, I won’t, Illyusha. Do you see the flared base? That’s so it won’t go in too far and send me to the emergency room.” His fingers continued to slide it in and Illya felt the urge to touch it. “There. Oh god, that feels good. Someday that’s going to be you in there, my love. You’re going to fill me up and make love to me until I come.”

Illya gave in and lightly touched the soft black plastic. “It doesn’t hurt?”

Napoleon rolled onto his back, trapping Illya’s hand beneath him. “Feels big for the moment because, like I said, I haven’t played in a while. But no it doesn’t hurt. In fact, press it in a bit.”

He watched Napoleon’s eyes and did as requested, watching the shiver ripple across his skin. “You like that. And you want it to be me . . . inside of you?”

“When you’re ready, Illya, it will all happen so naturally that we’ll wonder why we ever agonized over it.” His gaze was affectionate and Illya bent down to kiss him.

It would take time to readjust his thinking but his lover was moaning into his mouth and Illya had the urge to give Napoleon a climax that would rival the one he’d just had. So, he trailed his kisses down past the nipples that begged for attention, over the flat stomach that rippled at his soft nips and around the cock leaking copious amounts of salty fluid.

“Oh yes, there. Right there, Illyusha.” Napoleon’s head was moving back and forth on the pillow, his eyes slitted with pleasure.

Illya nibbled up one side of the rock hard cock, swirling his tongue around the red crown before continuing down the other side. He moved between Napoleon’s legs so he’d have a better grip. His lover moved his legs up so his feet were firmly planted on the bed outside of Illya’s knees. In thanks, Illya kissed his way up one golden thigh, marveling at how soft this skin was.

But his hands never stopped caressing the cock and balls in front of him. Napoleon was undulating a little now, his breath catching a little every time he pushed down on the dildo. Illya contemplated it and tentatively moved the hand rolling the twin globes between his fingers down to press it in.

Napoleon hiccuped once and shivered. “Again. Do that again.”

So this time, he pressed it in harder, watching the familiar mask of pleasure take its place on his lover’s face. At the same time, he leaned in and descended on the leaking cock, protecting the tender skin from his teeth and swirling his tongue across the head. Napoleon was shaking now and thrusting up then back down onto Illya’s hand. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought.

And he was right. Within another few minutes, Napoleon was erupting into Illya’s waiting mouth. He sucked gently until he had it all, safe inside of him. All at once, he saw himself inside Napoleon watching him explode into climax while he filled his lover with his own release. Contemplating that picture, he reversed their positions and for the first time found it an intriguing thought rather than a fearsome one.

“Come up here, Illya. I need a hug.” Napoleon’s voice was soft as a whisper.

Illya let the spent cock slip from his mouth at the same moment that Napoleon let his legs collapse back to the bed. Moving carefully to the side, he slid into waiting arms. “It was all right, Pasha? I didn’t hurt you?”

“The only thing better would be if you’d been inside me instead of the plug. Have I told you that I love you lately?” The sleepy voice right by his ear made him feel safe.

“I think I would like that, Napasha. Should you take it out now?” Illya’s hand rested on the flat stomach, still stroking the soft skin.

“Probably, but I’m too satiated to move.” The answer came with a little chuckle.

“Then hold still while I remove it.” Illya rolled him a little to one side so he could reach the flared base. Gripping it with finger and thumb, he pulled it out as gently as he could.

“Oh god.” Napoleon’s groan made him hesitate with it half in and half out. “No, it’s all right, Illyusha. I’d just forgotten that it can be almost as erotic coming out as it does going in. Oh yeah.”

Illya held the five-inch piece of plastic still warm from Napoleon’s body, wondering how they made it and what kind of plastic it was. His lover had rolled back and was watching him with a fond smile.

“I did not know that such things were possible.” He turned it over in his hand. “Does the spiral ridge pattern give pleasure?”

“Yes. There are all kinds of dildos and plugs that you can wear to get yourself ready for making love. I’ve even got one that vibrates and uses batteries.”

“What?” Illya thought he’d misheard him.

Napoleon just grinned and pulled him down to his chest. “Women love the vibrating ones. In fact, one of my ex-girl friends told me that she preferred the vibrator to a man she couldn’t depend on.”

Illya just shook his head in amazement. “I have much to learn, Pasha.”

“You do just fine, love. But if you have questions, please ask. I want you to be comfortable with everything we do.”

“Do you really want to have me . . . inside of you?” 

“Yes. Someday you’ll be ready to slide deep inside of me, filling me up with that beautiful cock of yours.” Napoleon’s hands stroked him slowly, making Illya feel safe and wanted. “And I’ll get to have you all to myself, giving me your power and passion. All for me. I’m greedy, Illyusha. I want all of you.”

Illya blushed and hid his hot face against Napoleon’s shoulder. “I think I want that too, Pasha. But it’s not fair when I’m still a little afraid of reciprocating.”

“Did you like my tongue there?” Napoleon rolled them both over so he now leaned over Illya. Blushing even harder, Illya nodded. “And my finger didn’t hurt, right?” Napoleon waited for his nod before continuing. He took the dildo from Illya’s hand. “What do you think about slicking this little guy up really slippery and sliding it inside of you?”

Illya contemplated the rubbery dildo. It really wasn’t that big, maybe two fingers worth rather than just one. Napoleon had certainly seemed to enjoy it. And he’d mentioned plugs that got you ready . . . by stretching out the muscles perhaps? It would please Napoleon and he’d be able accommodate the much larger cock of his lover.

“I think if you first stretched me with your fingers, it would slide in and not hurt, yes?” He said hesitantly. 

“Only if you want it in, love. Remember, nothing you don’t want.” He smiled down at him and leaned in for a kiss. “Let me go get something to clean us up and then we can . . . play some more.”

Illya let him have the dildo and watched him walk across the bedroom floor to the bathroom. He strode unselfconsciously across the carpet like the Emperor that Illya secretly called him. Smiling, he hugged the knowledge, that he was loved so well, to himself. He was a very lucky man to have such a patient lover. And the rimming had felt beyond good. What would it taste like to return the favor to Napoleon? Could he do that to him? It couldn’t taste too bad or his lover wouldn’t want to do it.

“You’re going to give yourself a headache if you keep thinking that hard.” The teasing accents of his lover startled him.

“I was just wondering what I taste like . . . down there.” He knew he was blushing again and silently damned his fair skin.

“Not bad, love. It’s just a little more musky-Illya than usual. You keep yourself so clean that it’s never a hardship to taste you there.”

“I hate being dirty. It goes back to the gulag where there was never enough water to waste on mere washing. Once I got to the University, I could hardly believe that all that water was free to be used everyday. I practically washed my skin off.” Illya admitted ruefully while Napoleon wiped his groin with a warm washcloth.

“Ah, I wondered. Now, are you up to playing some more?” The devilish glint in his eyes reminded Illya of one of the reasons he loved his partner so much.

“Always, Pasha. What ever I have is yours to play with.”

“Buzz-z-z. That’s the right answer, my friend. Now, I want you to roll over and lie on your stomach. Put a pillow under your hips first.” He positioned Illya exactly where he wanted him, never ceasing to touch him with teasing little strokes that tantalized rather than enflamed.

Illya reminded himself that they were playing so he didn’t even flinch when warm fingers trailed a caress between his cheeks. But the splash of something cold and wet startled him and he twisted his head to see what it was. Napoleon had a tube of something in his hand and he was already squeezing out another ribbon of clear gel.

“This is supposed to be even more slippery than oil and better for the tender tissues of the anal canal. What does it feel like?” Napoleon answered his unasked question and the sight of his fingers dabbing the cool gel on his entrance made Illya shiver.

“It feels . . . cold but it’s seeping in now and it feels . . . wet. Put your finger in a little way.” Illya watched Napoleon’s finger follow the gel inside his hole and wondered at his acceptance. “I think I like it. Oh, do that again.”

Napoleon wiggled his finger and Illya felt the muscles loosen even further. Then it was gone and he missed it already. But there was more gel melting inside of him and that long finger was back, spreading it further and further inside of him. His neck was getting tired of twisting around and he really wanted to watch Napoleon play.

“Pasha, could I turn over so I can watch without craning my neck?”

“Really?” Napoleon’s smile was incandescent. “Sure. Let me help.”

Illya got rearranged with two pillows behind his head so he was propped up enough to watch Napoleon’s finger disappear inside his body. The other pillow was still under his hips, tilting them up so every caress could be seen, especially after he moved his half-hard cock to one side.

“I think I am becoming a Decadent American, Pasha. That feels good. There is no pain at all.”

“There will never be any pain in our bed, Illyusha. Just pleasure and more pleasure until we can’t take anymore. I’m going to try for two fingers now, love. Ready?” 

Illya watched him slathered more gel on his first two fingers and nodded breathlessly. They brushed across his opening tantalizingly then pressed against the spasming muscle gently before sliding inside. The feeling of fullness was different than with just one and Illya fought against the instinctive urge to push them out again. He found himself panting and wanting to move.

“More, Pasha. Need more.” 

Napoleon twisted the two fingers in and out for a moment then began a scissoring motion that made Illya thrust up. “That’s right, love. Feel how much my fingers love being here, stroking you. You’re so hot inside, Illyusha. And so tight that you feel like my black leather glove caressing my fingers.”

Illya had a sudden vision of those black gloves stroking his skin with their soft supple leather. He shuddered and hardened further without Napoleon even touching his cock. “I think I would like you to wear those gloves some night, Pasha.”

“Hm-m-m, that would be so hot, love. I can just see them touching your nipples, maybe even pinching them before moving like ghosts across your stomach and down to your cock.” Napoleon’s voice made love to him while his fingers continued to stretch him. “Are you ready for something more, my love? Something a little bigger?”

“The dildo?”

“Un-huh, I could get it all wet with this gel and when I take out my fingers, it would just slide in so soft and smooth that you’d barely even know the difference.”

Illya shuddered again, his eyes closing in spite of his determination to watch. “Yes, please, Pasha. Make me not afraid.”

The fingers disappeared and he opened his eyes to watch Napoleon coat the black plastic with the gleaming gel. Napoleon sat up between his legs and put his fingers to his entrance again. “Watch me, Illya. I love stroking you here and I think you do too. Just feel your muscles relaxing and pulling me in. That’s it, love. Open up for me. Oh, yeah. That feels so good. Are you ready for me?”

Illya nodded, feeling the fingers come out and the first touch of the plastic. “It’s warm.”

“I had it tucked under my balls so it wouldn’t be cold for you.” Napoleon slid it in a little further and Illya felt his muscles stretch around it without protest.

“You’re right, the spiral ridge does feel good.” He was panting again and when the base touched his skin, he felt the first nudge against his prostate. Warmth filled him and he moved restlessly, wanting that feeling again.

“That’s it, Illya. Move your hips for me.” Napoleon pulled it out a little before pushing it back in and Illya thrust up at the heated touch. “Oh, love, the way you look right now is so beautiful. You’re all flushed and I can see your nipples begging for me to kiss them.” Leaning in, he brushed his lips over the sensitive peaks and Illya keened at the ripples of pleasure that radiated out through his whole body.

He felt as if he was on fire and when Napoleon’s gel slicked hand began moving up and down on his cock, he began to tighten all over. He was shaking and he had a death grip on Napoleon’s shoulders. The three areas of stimulant were too much for his overloaded system and with a cry he released into his lover’s hand. The tremors shook him from head to toe and he was barely conscious when the dildo was pulled from his body.

That sent an electrical current through his entire body and he understood what Napoleon had said earlier about the feeling of it coming out. Gentle hands cleaned off his groin with the damp washcloth and he was moved under the comforter before strong arms gathered him in.

“Beautiful, Illya, you are so beautiful when you come.” Napoleon held him close.

“I love you, Pasha. Thank you for taking the fear away.”

“I love you, Illyusha. Go to sleep and we’ll play some more tomorrow.”

Illya snuggled into the warm arms and felt himself drift off, safe and loved.


	3. Picnics, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the light comes calling.

“Illya! Down!” Napoleon’s shout caught him on the stairs with his gun in his hand and no cover in sight but he instinctively obeyed. 

Wincing at the bruises he could feel forming as he slid down the steps, the shots that almost parted his hair moved him even more quickly down to the protection of the lower hall. The sound of the shots told him where the shooter was and the dull thud told him his partner had taken care of that problem. Napoleon was perhaps even more protective now that they were lovers than he had been before.

And at the moment, he was rather grateful for that all-seeing gaze. A slight click reminded him that there was more than one shooter and he fell flat, rolling down the foyer until he had the Thrush agent in his sights and could snap off a shot. He felt a sting along his arm and resigned himself for yet another trip to the clinic.

But he at least had the satisfaction of knowing that the enemy agent would be right there with him. He sat up, stoically ignoring the reddening sleeve and got up to follow after his partner. His left arm was beginning to hurt but he kept moving until a shrill whistle sounded the all clear, only then dropping his arms and holstering his gun.

Napoleon appeared in the door of the rival lab, his sharp eyes taking in Illya’s wound with one glance. “We need to work on your ducking skills, my friend. But on a more positive note, it appears we caught them napping. I found notes and a working computer that has the security . . . off.”

“Thank goodness. Mr. Waverly will be pleased. Let me see the computer.” Illya tried to go around him into the lab but Napoleon stood his ground.

“Sorry, Illya. We’re going to let the lab boys have fun while you and I report in and Dr. Keyes can have some fun stitching up that bullet hole that you’re trying to hide.” His partner’s tones were mild but Illya knew better than to protest, even though he really wanted to explore the lab and the interesting experiments they’d caught wind of.

“Yes, Napoleon.” He gave in meekly because his arm was starting to hurt and the muscle had gone numb.

“All right, that’s it, we’re going in right now.” Strong hands on his shoulders turned him around and urged him down the hall, propelling him past the security men who were securing the building and out to their car. He got in and watched Napoleon get behind the wheel.

“It’s nothing so very bad, Pasha. You warned me in time to duck.”

“I hope you’re right. But this is the fourth time this year they’ve deliberately targeted you. He had a shot at both of us and he picked you.” Napoleon’s voice was tight, his driving sharp and controlled.

Illya had nothing to say to that since it was quite true. He laid his head back against the headrest and watched his partner cut through traffic like the professional driver he was. He loved watching him drive and it took his mind off the burning pain that was traveling up his arm to his shoulder.

The rest of their trip passed in silence and Illya automatically went to the clinic while Napoleon reported in. Dr. Keyes probed the bullet site and shot his arm with a couple of numbing agents before sewing up the gaping wound. It only took five stitches but he prophesied more pain since the bullet had nicked a nerve. A broad-spectrum antibiotic shot in the ass had Illya scowling but the doctor just smiled and helped him get dressed. 

He insisted on a sling and Illya was definitely pissed when Napoleon walked in, gauged the tension in the air and smiled charmingly at the chuckling doctor. “Any instructions, Bill?”

“Here’s some oral antibiotic that he’s to take for the next ten days to hopefully keep any infection at bay. And here’s the codeine for the pain. And it will hurt when the local wears off. Keep him drinking fluids, no alcohol and don’t let him use it more than he has to.” He watched Illya stalk from the room. “And Napoleon . . . good luck, you’re going to need it.”

************** 

Illya kept silent after answering the formal debriefing questions. Napoleon kept looking over at him nervously but since it was taking all his control to not show how much pain he was in, he had no energy to reassure him. Dr. Keyes had been quite right about the local wearing off and he could feel the flush of fever spreading from his ears on down.

As the Americans said so descriptively, this really sucked.

He tried heading back to Green Lab to pick up the working notes of the project he’d left hanging when pulled for the Thrush assignment. But Napoleon scowled at him and turned him towards the exit, walking slightly behind him and to his right side so he could stop any attempt at escape. Illya removed his badge and acknowledged the guard’s sympathy with a smile.

The constant health concern that all Americans expressed still amazed him. Even strangers would comment on colds, casts and slings. Illya pondered why his adopted country was so obsessed with being healthy, staying on diets, eating enough fiber and exercising until they dropped. It seemed odd to him and he started to ask his partner but he remembered in the nick of time that he was mad at Napoleon. 

“Don’t pout, Illyusha, you know that it makes me want to kiss you.” His grinning partner had the car door open for him.

“I just wanted my notes to study while I am recuperating, Napoleon.” Illya slid in a little awkwardly, bumping his arm and barely keeping his exclamation to himself.

“Tomorrow.” Napoleon closed the door and moved unhurriedly to the driver’s side. “I’ll get you anything you want tomorrow. Tonight, you’re going to let me pamper you. Soft pillows, some soup and crackers, that guava nectar you like and me, waiting on you hand and foot.”

Illya thought about it while they departed the parking ramp and headed home. “I want chocolate chip ice cream for dessert.”

“Okay.”

“And I want to listen to Rimsky-Korsakov on the stereo.”

Napoleon sighed. “Agreed.”

“I’ll need a foot massage.”

He grinned and cast a quick look at Illya. “Now, you’re getting into the spirit of things. I promise to massage you right into ecstasy, lover.”

“And you’ll read me to sleep with more Shakespeare?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then, you have my permission to pamper me, Pasha.” Illya laid his head back and tried not to think of the pain.

“Thank you, Prince Illya. I can’t tell you how honored I am.”

Illya smiled sweetly at him. “It is an honor, isn’t it.”

Napoleon laughed out loud and let a silly little Volkswagen cut in ahead of him. Illya felt a gleam of satisfaction at his successful attempt at teasing. He was learning from his partner and Mark how to make others laugh. April was giving him flirting lessons and he practiced whenever he could. But only with Napoleon, only with the man he loved more than life itself.

“Is the pain very bad, love?” The car had stopped and Napoleon was leaning towards him, one hand hovering over his left arm. 

“A little. I was thinking about how much I love you, Pasha.”

“Then why the worry line?” Napoleon smoothed a finger between his eyes.

“Because I don’t tell you enough. I don’t have the right words.” Illya sighed and wished that he could be charming like his partner.

“You have the words, Illyusha. You just said them. I love you, too. All the flowery adjectives in the world can’t replace those three simple words. Sit still and wait for me to open the door for you.” 

Illya wavered a bit when he got out, the sidewalk seeming to move beneath his feet. Napoleon gave him an arm to hold onto and they made it up the steps to their front door. The pain was a constant now, radiating up his arm across his shoulders and down the other arm. He was panting by the time Napoleon sat him down on the bed in his room.

“Stay there and don’t move. I’ll go get some water for your pills.” The tight voice was back, the one that Illya only heard when he got hurt. That seemed to be rather often these days. 

He could feel his temperature rising and he kicked off his shoes so he’d be ready to lie down after taking his pill. The bed looked so inviting, all smooth linen in a light blue that didn’t hurt his eyes. He tried to get his jacket off but that wrenched his arm and he had to bite his lip hard to keep from crying out.

“Don’t, love. Let me help with your clothes. Open up.” Napoleon held out a pill and Illya obediently opened his mouth for the capsule, drinking it down with the cold water that his partner had brought.

The next few moments were trying ones while Napoleon eased him out of his clothes. Once he was down to bare skin, his partner covered him up and eased a pillow under his left side so he couldn’t accidentally roll onto the wounded arm. The codeine was making him float and he watched Napoleon puttering around the room, putting away clothes and changing out of his suit into jeans and a polo shirt.

“I like you casual, Pasha. You look younger somehow.” His tongue seemed very thick and it took a lot of energy to get the words out in the right order.

“I like you casual, too, Illyusha. Sometimes I feel as if I was robbing a Russian cradle. You look about sixteen some days.” Napoleon smiled at him and leaned over the pillow to kiss him. “I’m going to go down and get some juice for you. Anything else you’d like?”

“Just you, Pasha. And some ice. It’s so hot in here.”

He must have dozed because Napoleon was back and urging him to take another pill. Time moved very slowly or maybe it was quickly, he thought muzzily and wondered why Napoleon kept changing clothes on him. The pain came and went, staying sometimes for an hour at a time. When Dr. Keyes showed up, Illya thought fearfully that he would say something about finding Illya in his partner’s bed.

But he didn’t say a word, only unwrapped the bandage on his arm. The alarm in his voice then prodded Illya out of a fever dream and he wondered at the swollen skin around the incision and the purple streaks that radiated out from the angry red scar. But then he was being wrapped in blankets and Napoleon was carrying him down the stairs and out the front door. The pain was so bad that he let himself pass out then, knowing that Napoleon would keep him safe.

**************** 

“Illya! Don’t you dare leave me.”

//Pasha?//

“Promise me, Illya. Stay for me.”

//It’s so bright.//

“Illyusha. Don’t leave me alone.”

//Stay.//

****************** 

The warm hand that held his was familiar and he flashed back to the last time he’d awakened in a hospital. The smells were right but the sheets felt much nicer so he must be back in the clinic at UNCLE headquarters. And that meant that Napoleon was sitting up with him again.

“Napasha?”

“Right here, love.”

A warm drop landed on his hand and Illya opened his eyes to see Napoleon dash away tears from his cheeks. “Don’t cry, Pasha.”

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Illyusha.” His partner kissed the fingers he held so tightly. “You almost left me.”

“Never leave you, Pasha. Remember? Till the light calls.” He recalled the vows they’d made to each other in Switzerland.

“I remember.” Napoleon held on even harder. “It almost called for you this time. The bullet was coated with a slow acting poison. Bill analyzed the damn thing after he took it out of your arm and spotted something odd under the microscope. By the time he got to you with the antidote, your system was already in the process of shutting down.”

“Sorry. ‘worrying you.” Illya could hear his words slur and he knew he was going to sleep again.

“Sleep, love. It’s the best healer.”

********************* 

This time, the light didn’t hurt his eyes and the smell of hospital didn’t make him sick to his stomach. When he opened his eyes, he found April Dancer giving herself a manicure. “April?”

The wide smile lighted her whole face. “Welcome back, Illya. You had us all worried there for a while.”

“Napoleon?”

“He’s in a debriefing of Mark and my last mission. We got in this morning with some very interesting news about THRUSH Europe. Or rather what’s left of their European branch.” Her smile was smug but more importantly, she was pouring him a glass of cold water and he licked his dry lips in anticipation.

She bent the straw and let him sip it slowly. It tasted so good that he closed his eyes in enjoyment.

********************* 

He awoke to the sound of voices talking over him. Napoleon’s voice was heated while Mr. Waverly’s was patient. Opening his eyes, he watched them square off across his bed.

“He needs rest and recuperation time.”

“I agree, Mr. Solo. But you do not and I need you to take over Section Five now.” Mr. Waverly gestured with his unlit pipe.

“And I’m very grateful to be offered the position but right now is when Illya needs me the most. He will need careful nursing for at least two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“At least two, perhaps three.”

“I can spare you for two weeks but no more. We can hire a nurse to take care of him if need be but you must be here for the summit meeting on the fifteenth.” The look he gave Napoleon was ferocious but Illya could see the concern that he was hiding.

“That sounds about right.” Illya decided to enter the conversation.

“Illya, you’re awake.” Napoleon leaned down and for one scary minute, he thought he was going to kiss him right in front of Mr. Waverly. But he just brushed his cheek with the back of one hand. “It’s about time you stopped sleeping your days away.”

“How many days?”

“It’s been a week, Mr. Kuryakin. Welcome back. I’ll send in Dr. Keyes on my way out.”

“Napoleon will attend your summit, Mr. Waverly.”

“Illya!”

“Hush, Napoleon. In two weeks I will be right in the middle of healing. The scar will itch, I’ll be bad tempered and irritable because it’s not healing faster. My sarcasm will be at an all time high and I’ll contradict everything you say just because I can.”

Napoleon’s lips twitched and he bit the lower one hard. “Good heavens, what was I thinking of. Of course I’ll be back by the fifteenth.”

The faded blue eyes twinkled at Illya and Mr. Waverly winked at him before taking himself out of the room with a harrumph. Napoleon tried to keep his laughter inside but a chuckle escaped before he could catch it. Illya lay contentedly watching him, holding on to him with his good hand.

“I love you, Illya Kuryakin. Don’t ever leave me again.”

“Never, Napoleon. I’ll never leave you if I have any say in the matter.” His eyes drooped and he fought them open again. “I keep falling asleep. Was April here?”

“Yesterday, she sat with you while I went over some very interesting material that she and Mark brought back from France. When you’re on your feet again, part of the ton of material they shipped back has your name on it.”

“When can I get out of here?”

“When Bill says you can. Do you remember a while back when I promised you a picnic?” Napoleon stroked his hand tenderly.

Illya thought back to their picnic on the roof. “Yes. I’m not sure I’m up to a picnic right now, Pasha.”

“That’s all right. When you get out of here, I’m going to take you to our picnic site. Then, when you’re feeling better, we’ll go on our picnic.”

“Will I like it?”

“I hope so. It’s one of my favorite places in the whole world and I want to share it with you.”

“Then I’ll like it. I’m falling asleep again, Pasha.” Illya’s eyes closed and wouldn’t reopen. 

A warm kiss brushed against his lips and the lovely Napoleon-taste made him smile. “Go to sleep and dream of me. I love you, Illyusha. Thank you for staying.”

“Love you, too.” Illya fell asleep before he could say anymore.


	4. Picnics, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon's picnic takes place at his Nana's. Rebecca Solo's POV

Rebecca Solo opened the door and found her grandson standing on the step. “Darling! You’re early. I thought you wouldn’t be in until later this afternoon.”

“We caught an earlier flight, Nana. This is Illya Kuryakin, my partner.”

Rebecca saw a pale young man who looked as if a strong wind would blow him away. The blue eyes were shy and when he bowed over her hand, she felt him falter. But Napoleon had an arm around him instantly, bracing him until he could get his balance.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Solo. Napoleon has spoken of you often. Thank you for allowing me to visit your home.” His faintly accented English intrigued her.

“Nonsense, young man. Napoleon said that you’ve had a rather bad time lately and this is just the place to come while you’re healing.” She smiled at him and was rewarded with one of the sweetest smiles she’d ever seen. “Now, you must come in and sit down while Napoleon brings in the luggage and I make the tea.”

She bossed them into the living room and watched surreptitiously while Napoleon fussed over his partner. She saw the silent admonishment that the beautiful blond glared at him and the way that her grandson meekly nodded. This was going to be an interesting visit.

By the time Napoleon had taken the suitcases upstairs, she was pouring out tea from her grandmother’s Wedgwood teapot and asking about their trip. The sling on Illya’s left arm was dismissed with a shrug by the young man as an ‘accident’. She’d get the true story out of her grandson later.

“Nana, which bedrooms are ours?”

“The rose room and the geometry room share a bath so those are your rooms for this visit.” She smiled at him and watched him take the stairs two at a time.

“Now, Illya, if I may call you by your first name?” She waited for his nod. “Good. Do you take sugar or milk in your tea?”

“No, thank you.” He leaned forward and bumped his elbow on the arm of the chintz-covered chair that had swallowed him up. 

He covered his flinch well but could do nothing about the way he turned white. She pretended not to notice, simply moving the small Duncan Phyfe table next to his chair on his good side and putting his cup and saucer there. Napoleon came bustling down the stairs and plopped down on the overstuffed footstool by Illya’s side.

“Now, I’m going to warn you right up front that I’m in a tricky spot in my next book and you’re going to have to look after yourselves.” She told them serenely.

“You must have your ten pages done for the day then or you wouldn’t have answered the door.” Napoleon smiled at her and accepted his cup of tea while quietly checking the young blond to see if he was all right.

“Quite right, dear. Hannah would have let you in but today is her day off. But tomorrow morning, she’ll be here to make pancakes for us. Then I’ll disappear into my study while you show Illya some of your favorite places.” She looked at them over the lip of her cup, watching the way they unconsciously accommodated each other. Illya’s eyes were darting about the room, taking in the furniture, art and flowers that filled the living room.

Napoleon had checked the whole room out with one sweeping gaze that told him that nothing had changed before surreptitiously eyeing his partner. Neither of them missed the slight shake in Illya’s hand as he raised the teacup. Rebecca decided the poor thing needed a nap. Travel could be hard on anyone let alone someone recovering from being shot.

“Short walks at first then we’d like to take a picnic lunch out to the lake.” Her grandson declared blithely while she blinked in surprise.

“You hate picnics, Napoleon.”

“I used to dislike picnics. I’ve come to a . . . new appreciation of them lately.”

“Well, just tell Hannah what you’d like and she’ll pack you up a tasty treat. But since it’s two miles to the lake, I suggest that you let Illya recover from the flight up before making the poor boy hike for his lunch.” She mock-frowned at her grandson and he smiled that cheeky grin that she’d sorely missed the last few years. Something had changed in his life and for the better too.

“It seems quite rude to come for a visit and immediately ask to take a nap but I’m afraid that I may need to.” Illya’s hand was visibly shaking, setting the empty teacup into the saucer with a clink.

Napoleon was on his feet instantly. “Nana doesn’t stand on ceremony, Illya. But before you fall asleep on us, you have to pick a room. I’ll warn you now that the rose room has a lot of roses on the walls but the geometry room has a very . . . interesting wallpaper border all around the top.”

“Ah, but math is one of my best subjects so perhaps the geometry room for me.” Illya accepted a hand up and Rebecca pretended not to notice when Napoleon slipped an arm around the gently swaying figure. 

“I’ll lead the way, shall I? I have to admit that I enjoy watching a guest when he or she first sees the geometry room.” She chuckled and began to climb the gracefully curving stairs. “Of course, Illya, what Napoleon hasn’t said is that he’s the one who picked out the design when he was eight.”

“Oh sure, Nana, give away all my secrets the first day.” He mock grumbled all the way up but fell quiet when she opened the door to what had been his room whenever he came to visit.

She hadn’t changed a thing except for the linen on the bed, choosing to replace the football quilt with a cotton comforter in red and blue. His books, telescope and trophies were still in the same places along with some of the adult things he’d collected while traveling the world and brought home to her.

The lightning glance that Illya swept the room with missed nothing, including the day-glow red triangle and key pattern border that followed the join between wall and ceiling. She watched the faint smile he bestowed on her grandson and the affectionate shrug that Napoleon returned. Really, she was looking forward to some interesting conversations with the pair of them.

“It won’t give you nightmares, Illya?” She asked innocently.

The chuckle was worth it. He shook his head and smiled at her. “No, I have slept in much worse, Mrs. Solo. This is positively . . . restrained for Napoleon.”

“Hey, no fair ganging up on me the first day.” Napoleon mock pouted and Rebecca laughed out loud.

“I can see that this will be a very revealing visit. Now, Napoleon, get Illya settled in for his nap then come down and tell me all the news from that den of inequity you live in.” She patted her grandson’s arm and left them alone, closing the door behind her. About three steps down, she heard a deep laugh that could only have come from Napoleon and she paused in shock at the carefree sound.

Now, she was really looking forward to knowing what had freed his laughter after so long without the joyful emotions that he seemed to have locked away when he returned from the war. If it was Illya’s doing, she was prepared to give him her undying gratitude. Sending up a silent prayer that this time the relaxation would be true and lasting, she continued on down the stairs.

Pouring another cup of tea, she leaned back and watched a cardinal flash by on his way to one of the front yard feeders. She’d always thought of the charming little boy who’d come to visit every summer as rather like that bright red bird, flitting in and playing the field until one brown mate settled him down to become a husband. She had known from the moment that she’d seen Napoleon and Mary together that her scarlet grandson had met his mate.

He laughed often then and she remembered the Christmas when he’d brought his new wife to her, against the rest of the family’s wishes. That was a magical time while they planned the dreams that young lovers plan when love was new and fresh. She sighed, that was the only Christmas they’d had to celebrate. Poor Mary was dead in a senseless traffic accident by the next December and Napoleon had retreated into himself before volunteering to go to Korea.

She’d prayed so hard those three years that he was overseas that he wouldn’t do anything foolish and get himself killed. And her prayers had been answered . . . but at a price. The Napoleon who had returned had a thick skin and charming manner that hid his heart beneath layers upon layers of protection. The last few years had shown her flashes of the old Napoleon but now she had the feeling that some of those old prayers were about to be answered.

“He was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow.” Napoleon joined her on the sofa and picked up the teapot to pour himself another cup. “Thank you for letting us come up now. I know you broke your rule about no guests while you’re writing but I needed a safe place to bring him while he healed.”

“Nonsense, Napoleon, I am intrigued that you’re finally letting me meet your partner. You just gave me tantalizing hints about him for the last few years. He looked very young just now.” 

“He has an ‘old soul’ as the psychics would say. He grew up in a gulag in Siberia after the soldiers came and massacred his entire family.” Frowning into his teacup, he sighed. “It’s only been recently that he let me in on some of the good memories of the years before he turned five and had it all taken away. He can be a little prickly at times but he’s the best partner I’ve ever had.”

She patted his hand. “I’m sure he is. After all, he’s been with you for the last five years and you’ve become friends.”

He smiled at her then dropped his eyes and she wondered what he was debating in his mind. Hesitancy wasn’t something he normally had to worry about and she’d always admired that in him. Deciding he needed prompting, she began to talk about her book and the problem she was having with one of her characters. He listened intently and made several comments about motivation that surprised her.

“Thank you, darling. I think that may help. Now, what’s this about picnics?”

He blushed - her outgoing grandson blushed. “Um, Illya made a nice picnic for us on the roof of the brownstone because he said I was getting stodgy . . . or words to that effect. So, I told him that I could plan just as good a picnic and that I would surprise him one of these days. Then he had to go and get shot.”

The anguish in his voice brought her hand to his so he had something to hold on to. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to, Napoleon. It could have easily been you instead of him.”

“I wish it had been.” He eased his grip on her hand, his gaze unfocused. “It’s the fourth time this year that he’s been targeted instead of me. The shooter had a good shot at both of us and he chose Illya. They seem to always choose him and it’s driving me insane. It’s a good thing that he’d already darted the guy or I’d have been tempted to make him eat his own gun.”

The menace in his voice shocked her but she managed to keep that reaction to herself. “You wouldn’t have done that, Napoleon. You’re too good a man for that.”

“I don’t know sometimes, Nana. There’s times I want to wrap him up in cotton wool and put him someplace safe where nothing can ever harm him again.” This smile was rueful. “But he’d snatch me bald if I ever tried it so I must be content with making sure he gets taken care of after he gets hurt.”

She hadn’t heard that note of tenderness in his voice for over ten years. It was the exact same tone he’d used with Mary and almost the very same sentiments. Rebecca blinked and thought about it for a moment. Could it be? Could Napoleon have fallen in love again? With his partner? His very male partner? She shook her head and reached for the teapot to distract herself from her disquieting thoughts.

“More tea, dear?” She waited for his nod before pouring out the golden Darjeeling. “Napoleon, is there something you’d like to tell me? Something you might have left out in your letters?”

He squirmed just like he had when he was ten and didn’t want to tell her that he’d broken the neighbor’s window with a fly ball just past the stump they’d used for third base. “Um, maybe later when we’ve been here a little longer?”

“Of course, darling, why don’t we take a walk in the rose garden so you can see the fruits of all that pruning I made you do on your last visit.” She rose gracefully and held out her hand.

Standing, he pulled her into a hug. “Thanks, Nana, for always being here for me. I love you.”

Rebecca blinked in shock then returned the hug, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, Napoleon. We don’t tell our loved ones that, often enough. Thank you for reminding me. You’re the best grandson I’ve ever had.”

He chuckled and let her go. “I’m the only grandson you’ve ever had.”

She took his arm and steered him to the back of the house. “Isn’t that convenient? Who knows what might have happened if your parents had decided to have six of you.”

He laughed out loud at that. “There will never be another like you, Nana. And that’s probably a good thing.”

Swatting his arm, she let herself be distracted while she showed him the roses that were her pride and joy. But in the back of her mind, she knew that she’d be coming back to this topic. Perhaps watching Illya and talking to him would winnow out the change in her beloved grandson. Later, she’d have a go at the shy Russian.

********************* 

Two hours later, Napoleon left her to go and check on his partner and she went to her study to think about what she’d learned. Her grandson had been open and loving in a way she hadn’t seen in years. And every other sentence had begun with the name, ‘Illya’. Pondering the change in him, she wondered what or who had been the catalyst for the upheaval in his life.

Had he changed out of all recognition? She shook her head ruefully. No, he’d simply reverted to his open hearted self, the one who’d disappeared when Mary died. The cold, charming man who’d returned from Korea had been stripped away to reveal the good-natured man/boy she loved. And if that meant a . . . change in his sexual being then she was just going to have to adjust.

Because losing a grandson was not on her things-to-do list.

So, that meant that she needed a plan of attack. She needed to talk to Illya by himself after she’d observed them together for a few days. Then, she’d know if this was the real thing or a bump in the road of Napoleon’s mental health. The quiet knock on the study door found her with pen in hand, jotting down some observations from the afternoon.

Putting them away in her right hand drawer, she made sure the desk was clear before calling to them to come in. Napoleon came in first, closely followed by his partner.

“This is Ali Baba’s cave, Illya. Or at least that’s how I always thought of it.”

The blue eyes widened and his gaze swept the floor to ceiling bookcases filled to the top with an eclectic mix of hardbacks and paperbacks. “It is indeed a treasure trove. And you complain about me having too many books.”

“Yes, well, I haven’t had to move these, have I?” He joked and made for the window seat, his favorite place to perch when he wanted her attention but didn’t want to interrupt her writing.

“Ah, you’re a reader, Illya. I approve wholeheartedly. Napoleon never had the addiction that books engendered in me. He’s too much like his grandfather.” Rebecca winked at Illya and surprised him into another sweet smile.

“Sometimes I force him to listen to a fascinating paragraph or two from what ever I’m currently reading. He hasn’t fallen asleep yet.” He ran his fingers over a row of mysteries. “You like Lindsey Davis? She’s one of my favorite authors. Who is Steven Saylor?”

“Well, if you enjoy ancient Roman settings, you’d like him. His main character is Gordianus the Finder. A finder in Rome is something like a private detective. Very enjoyable reading. Why don’t you start with Roman Blood? That’s his first title and you can see if you like him.”

Illya pulled out the book and immediately checked the flyleaf to read the publisher’s blurb.

“That’s done it, Nana. We won’t see him for a few hours while he speed reads his way through it.” Napoleon’s tones were affectionate and his smile gentle at Illya’s guilty start.

“I will save it for tonight in case I can’t fall asleep.” He tucked the book under his arm and began to move around the room. She laughed out loud and joined him by the bookcase. They traded favorite authors and series back and forth while they worked their way around the room. She noted his passion for reading and the gentle way he handled the books, even with the awkward sling on his left arm.

Dinner was spent discussing Shakespeare’s sonnets and she was amazed at the deft analysis her grandson gifted to her. She would never have believed that he could quote so extensively from the Bard’s works. However, she watched Illya blush when Napoleon quoted the last couplet of sonnet 22.

“Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;  
Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.”

It was then she knew that they loved. Napoleon has chosen this beautiful, shy young man as the one to hold his heart and Illya had traded his gladly. She watched them while they teased each other with dramatic recipe reading. Laughed out loud at Napoleon’s rendition of Greek Spanakopita and had immediate cravings for double chocolate chip cookies when Illya recited his favorite.

After they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, she sent them out to the garden so Illya could have some fresh air. Rebecca begged off with the excuse of a sudden thought for her latest book and they departed immediately. She continued to putter in the kitchen, getting out the ingredients for cookies for Hannah to bake the next day. She really did have an idea for the next scene but even more, she wanted them to have a little privacy.

Glancing out the side window before retreating to her study, she stood transfixed at the tender scene before her. Illya was sitting on the stone bench by the lily pond, laughing at some story that Napoleon was telling. Her grandson had a rose in his hand and with a flourish he went down on one knee and presented it to Illya. The blond blushed but accepted it, sending a worried look towards the house but Rebecca was motionless behind the lace curtain and knew she couldn’t be seen.

Confident that they were alone, Illya leaned forward and kissed her grandson. She could see the tenderness and caring that radiated from both of them. Napoleon must have said something mushy because his partner got the most interesting look on his face right before he pulled Napoleon closer and kissed him senseless.

Rebecca stepped back and fanned herself with the kitchen towel. So, that answered that question. They loved each other and it wasn’t platonic. Not platonic at all. This could prove even more interesting than she’d thought. There was something very touching in the gentle way they dealt with each other. Although, the second kiss was passionate in the extreme. 

Her late husband would have been shocked and appalled but she’d lived long enough to realize that love was love and gender really didn’t matter. It wasn’t something that she would have chosen for Napoleon but it was his right to do the choosing. Wondering what their intriguing boss thought of them, she decided he must be all right with it or he’d have never moved them in together.

Now that really did give her an idea and she headed for the study to write it down. This visit could prove to be a real inspiration, she told herself with a laugh.


	5. Picnics, part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They enjoy their picnic. With bonus recipe!

Illya woke slowly. His left arm was still cradled by a pillow and his right was anchored by Napoleon so he hadn’t moved much in the night. Opening his eyes, he took in the roses that ran up trellises all around him. The rose room was indeed a bower of soft red and pink blossoms that rioted all over the wallpaper. The bedspread was a rose colored thermal blanket that was just right for the in-between weather this far north.

He’d been unsure about Napoleon’s plan but right now, he was willing to concede that it was indeed the perfect place to rest and heal. The food was wonderful, the books plentiful and he coveted Napoleon’s grandmother. After three days of non-stop pampering from all three of the residents, he felt better than he had in months.

But the crowning moment had come when Napoleon had haltingly told his Nana that they were in a committed relationship beyond work. She had nodded, smiled and hugged them both, welcoming Illya to the family. He could still feel her soft lips on his cheek and hear the words she’d whispered.

Take care of each other.

Turning his head, he drank in the sight of his lover’s still face on his pillow. They kept the geometry room for Illya’s things but they spent the nights in the bigger bed in the rose room. Just over his shoulder, he could see the single rose bud Napoleon had picked the day before. This one was lavender. Every evening, his lover chose a different color to gift him. It was the most romantic gesture he’d ever experienced.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?” Napoleon’s sleep roughened voice startled him.

“No one has ever given me flowers before.” Illya confessed and watched his lover’s eyes go sultry.

“I told you that I’d give you the moon if I could. A rose fits your personality.”

Illya turned slightly so he could look into Napoleon’s eyes. “How is that?”

“Think of the thorns that protect the blossom just like the prickly persona that hides your beautiful soul.” He rose up on one elbow so Illya wouldn’t have to strain his neck muscles. “And I’m glad that so few people get past the thorns or I’d be jealous of all the bees that would come straight to your flower to drink your nectar.”

Illya blushed. “Pasha, that sounds obscene.”

Napoleon grinned and pushed the linen down so he could see their erections. “Why look at what I found growing. Sweet nectar. Bz-zz-zz-zz.”

Illya tried to hold back his laughter but when Napoleon swooped down and began to lick his cock, the chuckles changed to breathless groans. “Pasha, you are totally insane and I love you. Turn around so I can get to you, too.”

His lover chuckled around his mouthful and eased his body around and over Illya, being careful not to jog his arm. “Bz-zz-zz.” He hummed again.

“Buzz, yourself.” Illya stroked the hardening cock with his good hand before swirling his tongue around the head. This was still one of his favorite ways to make love and probably always would be. There was just something so satisfying about the silky skin stretched so tightly over the rock hard cock.

He found himself torn, as always, between pleasuring Napoleon and concentrating on the sensations of his lover’s tongue bathing his balls. But they had all the time in the world this morning so he could take his time and go slow. Napoleon seemed to agree because he was nibbling down one side of Illya’s cock with soft nips that tingled all the way down to Illya’s toes.

Illya hummed around his mouthful and felt Napoleon jerk. Backing off a bit, he rubbed the tender cock with his early morning stubble and felt the quiver his lover couldn’t hide. Grinning, he did it again before turning his head just far enough to run his chin over the silky skin of Napoleon’s inner thigh. Tasting his partner was always rewarding and this morning was no exception.

They played for long moments until Napoleon deep throated him and swallowed strongly. Illya thrust up once and then pulsed out his release into the waiting mouth. Suction pulled the last of his climax from him and he went limp for a moment while he tried to gather his strength to bring Napoleon off. But his play toy moved carefully off of him and slid into place by his side. He murmured a protest.

“Catch your breath, love. Let me digest my favorite morning snack.” Napoleon took a deep breath of the sweaty skin in the curve of Illya’s neck and shoulder. “You delight all my senses, Illyusha.” A raspy tongue slid across the hollow at the base of his throat then moved up and nipped just under his chin.

Illya let the contented purr go and enjoyed the chuckles from his partner. They still debated whether or not the Russian had been a cat in another life. It was probably childish but also satisfying to have secret sillies just between the two of them. He felt his energy levels rise and while Napoleon was kissing him, he let his hand wander between their bodies. He almost got his tongue bitten when he squeezed gently. 

Disengaging, he slid down Napoleon’s body and settled between the strong legs to enjoy himself. Cat-licking around the flared helmet, he teased the small slit and felt Napoleon tense. Sucking hard for a moment, he slowly descended on the straining cock, relaxing his throat muscles so he could take it all in. He felt Napoleon’s legs tremble and he used his fingers to gently scratch the tender skin of his inner thighs.

His lover was panting now and he moved up so he could use his tongue to flutter against the sensitive head before sucking hard again. Napoleon was close so he moved back down and practiced his humming. With a sigh, his lover released into his waiting mouth. Suckling at the softening cock, he drank down every drop of the addicting liquid.

“Come up here, Illyusha. I swear, you get better at that every day.” The husky voice made him shiver and he let himself be drawn tenderly up and over his partner’s body into his warm embrace. Napoleon cradled him while planting small kisses over his cheeks, eyes and temple.

Illya felt extraordinarily cherished whenever Napoleon kissed him like that. It felt as if every inch of skin was being blessed. “I love it when you do that, Pasha.”

“It’s what you deserve, love. To be adored for the hidden treasure you are.”

He felt a laugh well up inside of him that couldn’t be controlled. “A . . . a treasure? Napoleon, that’s so . . . silly.” And his chuckles overflowed into laughter.

Napoleon held him and fed his reaction with seemingly innocent lines. 

“You’re a pure and shining light to the universe.”

“You taste sweeter than honeyed jasmine.” He batted his eyelashes at Illya.

“The sound of your voice is like the cooing of turtle doves.”

“Your skin is softer than rose petals touched by dew.” Napoleon gazed soulfully over at him.

“You smell like fresh baked bread.” He wrinkled his nose at his partner and rolled him gently onto his back. “Actually, it may sound silly but all of those things are really true. I find myself trying to think of ways to describe you but I don’t have enough words. At least, not the right nouns like Nana can write.”

Illya smiled affectionately up at him. “You do fine, Pasha. And even better, you show me how you feel everyday. ‘Actions speak louder than words’ is one of those proverbs that I find to be very true.”

Napoleon kissed him gently but thoroughly, finally resting his forehead against Illya’s. “We need to get up and have breakfast so we can take my second favorite walk.”

“To the lake?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise. A couple more days and we’ll have our picnic. I promise.” He rolled out of bed and offered Illya a hand up.

Illya just lay there for a moment, basking in the loving gaze and feasting his eyes on the handsome man before him. Napoleon’s skin glowed in the early morning light. He looked younger somehow as if all the hard decisions and violent times had faded away to leave the pure essence of his lover behind.

“You are beautiful, Napasha. And I will love your surprise.” He inched to the side of the bed and slid out into his partner’s arms.

“We are two sides of the same coin, Illyusha. I don’t see my beauty but that’s because yours shines so brightly, I’m blinded to anyone else.” Napoleon hugged him close before leading him into the bathroom between their two rooms. 

They’d evolved a morning routine that worked equally well at home and here. One shaved while the other brushed his teeth then they switched places. But they showered together. It was still awkward for Illya to wash and Napoleon loved taking care of all the spots that he couldn’t reach. They both enjoyed playing in the water.

The day was to be mild but sunny so Napoleon suggested short sleeved polo shirts with their jeans. Illya told him he wasn’t going to wear his sling and had to pout before his lover gave in. But then he had to give in and take a sweater with him in case it got chilly. By the time they were ready to go down stairs, Illya’s stomach was growling.

Hannah was setting out the omelets smothered in a white cream sauce when they reached the table. Illya took his first bite while she hovered over his shoulder. They had shared recipes the day before and this omelet was the result. He chewed carefully, swallowing before smiling at her.

“Just like my mother used to make, Hannah.”

“Good. I’ve never used sour cream in an egg recipe before.” She left with a smile for both of them and Napoleon gave him a thumbs-up.

The silence was a contented one and they finished eating at the same time. Napoleon cleared the table for Hannah, carrying their dirty dishes out to the kitchen while Illya wandered out the front door to wait for him. The June sun was bright but not too hot, just the way he liked it. Carefully moving his arm, he tied the arms of his white sweater around his waist so he wouldn’t have to carry it on their walk.

Napoleon joined him and they set off. Leaving the manicured lawn behind along with the two lane black top, they crossed into the forest. Ancient pines whispered in the morning breeze and Illya could feel time drop away from his soul until he could . . . almost make believe that they were walking in the forests of his youth. The pine sap smell was strong here and he took a deep breath before slowly letting it out. Their feet kicked up a winter’s worth of dead needles and old pinecones. Somewhere overhead a squirrel chattered at the intruders in his wood. 

Napoleon’s voice was hushed. “Do you see why this is one of my favorite walks? I used to come here when I needed quiet. We’re not far from the seacoast and I played pirates for hours when Billy Saunders could come over and play. He never liked the woods and always refused to play here so my games were solitary when I came here.”

“Why didn’t he like the woods?” Illya reached out and brushed his hand over his partner’s.

“They were too old for him. They whispered of hundreds of years instead of his mere ten. I suppose they could be intimidating to a young boy but for some reason, they just felt like friends to me. Like Nana, they’re ageless.” He reached for Illya’s hand and held it. “I used to bring my lunch here sometimes and sit imagining what the Indians might have been like who hunted here before the white men came.”

“They were fierce warriors, the Algonquins. They had to be with the Iroquois raiding their villages. We’re east of the Penobscot River aren’t we?” Illya asked, gripping Napoleon’s hand tightly just for the joy of being able to do so.

“Yes. That means the tribes here were the Etchemin and yes, they did indeed have trouble with the Iroquois.” Napoleon looked at him affectionately. “Doing your homework, Illyusha?”

“You know how I enjoy my research, Pasha.” Illya flirted with his eyes, the way April had shown him and was rewarded with a kiss that stole his breath. Napoleon let him go reluctantly and they continued on.

“I know just how thorough you are. The Etchemin were mainly fishermen and they braved the waters here for years before the white men came. And the sea here can be very treacherous. It’s only been eleven years since it claimed a fishing trawler in the Grand Manan Channel less than thirty miles from here.”

Illya thought about the courage of the fisher folk who’d braved the seas for centuries all over the world. Trying to imagine going out into the waves in just a birch bark canoe made him shudder. At Napoleon’s questioning look, he tried to explain.

“I’ve had a fear of deep water since I was a small boy. Considering that the biggest pool of water near our village was a small lake barely a mile across, I never understood my fear but Papa could never get me to go any further than my chin. I’d grow rigid with terror if he took me in his arms and went out further to teach me to swim.” Illya could still remember freezing when his father had taken his strong arms away.

“Illya, it’s all right.” Napoleon’s voice broke through the old feelings and his strong arms replaced the missing hug from his father. “It’s all right, I’m here and I’ll never let you go.”

“It’s silly to be so fearful.” Illya rested his head on a broad shoulder for a long moment then pulled away so they could continue to walk. “When I was in London during my University days, a group of us went to a party that involved a psychic. I was very much odd man out and I stood on the sidelines while my fellow students all had their fortunes told. I had no problem being skeptical as one by one they crossed her palm with silver and were told they’d be married soon or win the Irish Lottery or become the president of their company. Silly stuff mostly.”

In the silence of the forest, he paused to listen to something just beyond his hearing. It was more of a pulse than a sound, starting from the soles of his feet and traveling throughout his body. Napoleon’s hand tugged him towards the almost-sound and he followed eagerly. The trees began to thin out and the rocks grew bigger. At the tree line, he finally heard the relentless surge of waves against stone. 

They arrived at the moment a huge wave broke over the scattered rock beach, splitting into foam and water that sprayed the area for twenty feet in all directions. Illya realized that he still heard it as a heartbeat, the pulse of the oldest creature on earth. Long before land formed, the oceans had ruled the world and they still fought to reclaim their lost realms now raised above them.

There was movement out on the small rock peninsula and Napoleon regretfully let go of his hand. “This was where we played pirates the summer I was ten. The jetty here was our ship and we often walked the plank just for the joy of getting wet, coming out and jumping in again. Simple pleasures but they’re some of my best memories. It looks like kids are still fishing off the end of Pirate’s Point.”

Illya enjoyed the softened look on Napoleon’s face while he continued talking about long days of fishing, swimming and playing. He wished that the memories of his tenth summer were more pleasant so he could share them. But the mind pictures were sufficiently harrowing that it was better they stay unspoken. Better to just bask in the fond looks of his partner and smile at his enthusiastic retelling of stories long remembered.

Two small towheaded boys clambered off the rocky dock with fishing poles in hand and a shared bucket sloshing between them. They had no shyness whatsoever and Illya admired their self-possession when Napoleon genially asked after their catch. He smiled and nodded when introduced to the grandsons of Rebecca’s neighbors the Pattersons. They ran off to take their catch to their grandmother and Napoleon smiled happily at their retreating backs.

“Exactly like Billy and I that summer. Do you feel up to going out onto the Point?” He looked eagerly down into Illya’s eyes.

“If we go slow, I have no wish to tumble down and break open the wound again.” Illya started forward only to have Napoleon stop him.

“No way, Illyusha. I go first and you hang on to me if you need to. I have no desire to see you bleeding again.” His tones were fierce and Illya nodded, watching where he placed his feet before following.

Within a few moments, they were surrounded on three sides by the foaming waves of a deep blue sea. There was a rock just right for sitting and Illya sat while Napoleon stood almost at the shoreline. The sun glinted off the white caps of the waves and the breeze brought that curious tang of salt and fish to Illya’s nose. It was an invigorating scent and he breathed it in deeply.

“This is part of Nana’s land, this and the beach around the shoreline that you haven’t seen yet.” Napoleon gestured to Illya’s right. “All in all, she owns 220 acres of forest, shore and lake front. And at one time or another, I’ve walked over the entire lot.”

“Your family is very lucky to have such a wonderful mix of land and water.” Illya’s eyes tracked a gull high above them.

“For all the attention that the rest of the family pays the place, you’d think it was a slum in the back of beyond.” Napoleon’s accents were tinged with bitterness and Illya dropped his eyes to study his companion. “I have two sisters, did I ever tell you that?”

“No, but it is in your record at UNCLE.” Illya didn’t apologize for his reading of the private file of his partner. Any agent worth his salt would have done the same.

“Well, they both married well and have the requisite 2 children each.” Napoleon dropped onto another rock at Illya’s feet. “They came once about three years ago to visit Nana. But the children were bored and they stayed four days before leaving. Nana visits them once a year once her book is done.”

“Perhaps when the children grow a little older, they will come to appreciate the beauty here. Do you think Nana minds?”

Napoleon chuckled and shook his head. “She says it’s a relief since I wore her out years ago.”

Illya chuckled and dared a brief caress to the dark hair so close to his knee. “I can see how that would be. You can be very . . . wearing.”

A dark glance glinted up at him. “Shall I wear you out tonight, Illyusha? Nana will be out until quite late and we shall have the house to ourselves.”

He pretended to think about it but gave in quickly when the ‘pout’ appeared. “Yes, I think you should pamper me until I . . . can take no more.”

“Yes!” Napoleon shot to his feet and leaned over to raise Illya to his feet. “If we walk back now, Hannah should have lunch ready for us. I have quite an appetite for some reason."

Illya laughed and followed him from the Point. “Walking in the fresh air will do that to you, Pasha. Perhaps I will wear you out, too.” 

“I’m counting on it, love.” Napoleon helped him down from the rocks and kept his hand in his when they returned to the shadowy depths of the forest. “I’m definitely counting on you, Illya.”

***************************   
End part five  
Note: The recipe that Hannah made for Illya follows:  
The Multicultural Cookbook for Students; Oryx Press, 1993  
Page 149 – Omelet Smetanoi  
Yield: serves 2

6 eggs  
2 TBLS chopped fresh parsley or 1 TBLS dry flakes  
4 TBLS butter or margarine  
2 TBLS flour  
¾ cup hot milk  
1 cup sour cream  
salt and pepper to taste

Equipment: Small size mixing bowl, fork or whisk, cup, 6 inch skillet with cover, heat proof plate.  
1\. Put 4 eggs in small bowl and mix in parsley. Melt 1 TBLS butter or margarine in skillet over medium heat and add half the egg mixture. Swirl pan to coat, cover, and cook until set (about 3 minutes). Remove omelet to a warm plate. Add 1 TBLS butter or margarine and make a second omelet exactly like the first. When done, stack it on top of the first omelet. Pour any pan drippings over it and keep warm.  
2\. Separate 2 remaining eggs and put yolks in a cup (refrigerate whites to use at another time.  
3\. Melt remaining butter or margarine in skillet over medium-low heat. Add flour and mix until smooth. Add hot milk, stirring continually until blended. Mix in sour cream and egg yolks and blend well. Stirring continually until smooth and thick, season with salt and pepper to taste. When ready to serve, pour hot sauce over the eggs.  
Serve with pumpernickel or black bread for sopping the sauce. In Russia omelets are eaten at anytime of day or night.


	6. Picnics, part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They picnic at the lake. Rebecca's POV. With bonus recipe.

Rebecca Solo finished her chapter for the day and pressed print. Sitting back, she moved her head in a small circle to loosen the tight muscles. As always, she mused about the changes that occurred when she went from pen to computer. Her first draft was hand written on paper, using every other line so she could go back to correct/add/delete after she finished. Then she would type it slowly into the computer and that’s when her mind saw the need for rewriting.

She thought about the way technology had moved into her life. From the microwave that Hannah had wanted to the technology filled box that sat behind her on the computer table. Napoleon had gotten it for her for Christmas the year before and she’d resisted it for weeks before sitting down to try. And now, she couldn’t imagine ever having done without it.

The microwave had turned out to be quite useful as well.

*I guess you’re never too old to learn new tricks.*

She gathered the pages from the printer and tore off the last page at the perforations. Tearing the pages apart, she spread them out before her on the gleaming cherry wood desktop. Now was when she could see her mistakes and make the changes that would go into the ‘saved file’. Such language idioms, she shook her head. Learning a new language at her age . . . who’d have thought it.

The next hour was spent finding spelling mistakes, dangling participles and non-sentences. After making the corrections in the file and saving, she sat back and finally looked at the clock. 11:30. Not too bad for a day’s work, she thought. I wonder what Hannah has for lunch.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. “Come in, I’m done.”

“Oh good, we were hoping that you would be.” Napoleon’s smiling face appeared, followed closely by Illya’s shy smile. “Are you really, really done? Can you come out and play now?”

“What do you two have in mind?” Rebecca smiled at the eager look on their faces.

“A picnic at the lake.” Napoleon said excitedly. “Hannah made all our favorites and we want you to come with us.”

Rebecca’s eyes met Illya’s and saw his quiet acquiescence. “Well, how could I turn down just a lovely invitation. I’ll just go change my shoes for something a little bit more robust then I’ll join you in the rose garden.”

“Oh good.” Napoleon’s eyes sparkled and he rubbed his hands together gleefully. “This is going to be so much fun.” He ushered Illya out ahead of him and she could hear his voice telling him of the boats and the wildlife that both used the lake.

She changed into her sturdy walking shoes and made sure that she had three handkerchiefs in the various pockets of her cardigan. Using the bathroom before going back down stairs, she looked for her sunglasses and finally found them in the pocket of her rain jacket. Taking one of the purple silk scarves from the scarf hanger, she wrapped her hair in it before heading for the kitchen.

Illya turned at her entrance and offered her his good arm. She took it happily and let him lead her from the kitchen with Hannah calling good bye to them. Napoleon followed with a heavily laden picnic basket, mock grousing about Illya running off with his grandmother. She laughed at that and while they walked down the wide gravel path, she answered Illya’s question about the lake. They soon left behind the garden and took to the trail worn by the Solo family over the last fifty years. 

That led to stories of Napoleon’s summers with her and she took great care to mention all his favorite excursions. Napoleon groaned pitifully at her stories but Illya just egged her on to expand on some of her grandson’s more . . . decorative exploits. She enjoyed the sound of the young blond’s laughter and the look of gratitude in her grandson’s eyes told her that the relaxed young man didn’t often let go. He had a sense of humor but seemed to be hesitant about releasing it.

Of course, she’d heard several outbreaks of laughter from their bedroom and that had won her acceptance faster than any words would have done. She’d always known her grandson was a brave man but his courage in telling her of their relationship had been exceptional. She was not so divorced from the ‘real world’ that she didn’t realize that being bisexual was frowned upon in the government circles in which Napoleon and Illya moved.

That sweet Mr. Waverly had to know about them, she had too much respect for him to think otherwise. And this sudden move to give Napoleon the directorship of Section Five looked like a ploy to get him off the streets and into a safer job. Now, that was something she would willingly work towards. From what they’d let fall about Illya’s double masters degrees and his Ph.D. in chemistry, the young man would be a real asset in their research labs.

She listened to them banter back and forth with a smile. They were well matched in intellect if not in education. She rather approved of their strengths not being the same; it betokened a much better relationship. They’d be able to lean on each other when the going got rough and at some point, it always got rough. She and Salvatore had had their share of rocky patches in their thirty-five year marriage but they’d bolstered each other during the hard times just as Napoleon and Illya seemed to have done.

“We’re almost there, Illya.” Napoleon said excitedly. “Has it changed much, Nana?”

“Not a bit, sweetheart. The old canoe is still there if you’d like to take it out.” She felt Illya shiver against her arm. “Don’t you like boating, Illya?”

“It is the deep water that I seem to fear.”

“Here it is, Illya. You’re right, Nana, it doesn’t seem to change at all.”

The deep blue of the placid lake was almost purple in the early afternoon sun and Rebecca sighed contentedly. Long lazy days on the water had been one of their favorite ways to spend the summer when Napoleon was a child. Salvatore had been a sleek seal in the water and his grandson had learned early to imitate him.

“You never did finish your story about the psychic at the party during your University days.” Napoleon swung the basket up onto the wooden picnic table and raised an eyebrow at his partner while Rebecca looked on.

Illya looked a little uncomfortable but nodded. “It will sound silly.”

“Sillier than ghosts?” Her grandson smiled sweetly at him and pulled out the red and white checked tablecloth, spreading it out on the table.

Blue eyes glared at him but Rebecca could tell that he was only hesitating because he was probably ashamed of his youthful self. “She had styled herself Madame Zola and most of her pronouncements were the usual predictions of money, travel and weddings. I was discussing quantum physics on the balcony with one of the professors who had come to the gathering when she came out to get some fresh air.”

Rebecca helped set out the contents of the basket while she listened. Hannah had outdone herself with a three-course meal and a tin of cookies that had scented the entire house that morning. She thought that Illya would enjoy them since the recipe came from him and Hannah loved trying new recipes.

“What did she look like, Illya?” She asked while handing Napoleon the bottle of chilled Zinfandel.

“She was about your height with dark hair in a chignon on her neck and deep set brown eyes that seemed to look straight through you and into another dimension. I did not believe in her pronouncements but I thought perhaps she was genuinely open to paranormal phenomena.” Illya shrugged and took the wineglass that she handed him.

“And what was your position on the paranormal?” Napoleon popped the cork and began to fill the glasses.

Illya looked out over the lake, his eyes unfocused. “I am a scientist and I believe in physical laws that govern the world we see around us. But I am also a child of peasant Russia and the belief in a power greater than myself was fed to me with my mother’s milk.” He shrugged and seemed to be trying to hide a blush.

Rebecca laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You explain it very well, Illya. I have come to the realization that the Power is called by many names and described in a myriad of different ways. But it exists, no matter what it is labeled.”

The blue eyes looked shyly into hers and he nodded. “Yes. The professor to whom I’d been speaking nodded coldly to her and left the balcony. He was a little more rigid in his beliefs but I stayed, wondering what she might say. She leaned against the parapet wall, looking out over the city and clasping her hands in front of her like a little girl at her first catechism. She spoke with an educated accent and I will never forget what she said.”

Flashback - 

“You do not seek your fortune, young sir?”

“No, I believe I will make my way on my own.”

“Ah, but the past is always with us. And your past has many holds upon you.”

“Really?”

“You do not like to swim in deep water because of an old fear. Not of this life but of one many centuries ago.”

“Reincarnation?”

“Of course, so much of our past we must relive again and again.”

“Does a person ever get it right?”

“Sometimes . . . sometimes we learn our lesson and move on to another.”

“And what lesson was it that I did not learn?”

“Three thousand years ago – give or take a century or two, you were a fisherman off the coast of . . . America. The boats were made of hollowed trees and you were dark complected with shiny black hair. A great storm blew up out of nowhere and swamped your fishing party. All of you drowned and to this day, that fear of water holds you fast.”

\- End Flashback

Illya shrugged. “That’s all she would say and ever since then I have wondered if she saw true or simply made it up.”

“Well, since she didn’t know you and you’d never met before, how could she have made it up?” Napoleon set the picnic basket on the ground and made sure the benches were clean before sitting Rebecca down with a flourish. 

“Gossip. I’d turned down a boating party on the Thames one weekend and some of the others might have speculated in her hearing. Con artists are notorious for making inspired guesses.”

“But how did you feel at the moment she said it, Illyusha?” Napoleon sat down across from Rebecca and Illya.

The young man blushed. “It was one of those ‘aha!’ experiences we have spoken of before. When you took me to the ocean, it felt as if I were coming . . . home.”

Napoleon’s eyes melted and his hand reached across the table to his lover. “You are home, Illya.”

“Home is where ever you are, Pasha.” He met the hand and squeezed it gently.

“Gentlemen, I propose a toast.” Rebecca hid a sniff at their endearing sentiment. “May this always be your home and may you have many more happy years here.”

They clinked their glasses above the table and took a sip of the golden wine. The next few moments were spent in apportioning out the food onto their paper plates. Rebecca was beguiled into telling more stories about Napoleon’s youth while Illya listened and chuckled. He was in turn teased into telling some of his memories of the same age although his were more somber recollections.

Rebecca ached at the thought of the beautiful pale child he must have been, fighting for survival in the bleak gulag and learning the harsh lessons that Napoleon had only learned in a war zone. Silently, she said a prayer for them both, that they might always be there for each other in good times and bad. She was glad that she’d taken the steps she had at the beginning of their visit.

They were squabbling about some point in a story they were telling her about one of their missions when she tapped her fork on her glass and cleared her throat. Two pairs of eyes met hers curiously and an almost identical eyebrow raised on each brow. She smiled at them tenderly and reached out a hand to them both, which they immediately took.

“When you first came, I knew almost immediately that you were in love. It warmed my heart to hear you laugh freely, Napoleon. For too many years, that laugh was silent and I prayed that you would find the spark that would re-ignite your soul.” She squeezed his hand and felt it returned. “And Illya, you were everything he’d told me and more. Kind, intelligent and so much in love with my grandson that it shone from you.”

He nodded slowly, returning her grip.

“So, I took a step that I’d been planning for some time. Napoleon, you know that I hold title to five properties in various places, including this acreage and the island off the Windward Islands in the Caribbean.” She waited for his nod. “Well, no longer do I hold title to this land. You do.”

“What?” His eyes couldn’t get any wider. “But this is your home.”

“Yes, it is. And I hold a life interest in it which will last as long as I do.” She smiled again and held onto their hands. “But the others don’t care for this place the way that you do. And now I see that Illya feels the same way. In a very real sense, boys, you have both come home. When the spy business gets to be too much, you can come here to recharge your batteries. And if you retire in the distant future, your home will be waiting here for you.”

“Nana, I . . . I don’t know what to say.” Napoleon fumbled, unable to put together a coherent sentence. “It’s too much.”

“No, it’s not. People up here tend to mind their own business. This can be a safe haven for you when tolerance is hard to come by. You haven’t chosen an easy path in loving each other but here you can rest and be yourselves.” Rebecca watched Illya’s eyes fill with tears that never fell. She ached for the young man who’d learned so early how to control his emotions.

“Thank you, Nana. For this,” Napoleon waved an arm in a full circle that included the forest and lake. “But most of all for accepting us. And still loving me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You are so very welcome. Especially for bringing home such a sweet young man like your Illya.” She smiled at them both.

“Thank you.” Illya leaned over and kissed her cheek.

She could see all the things he couldn’t say and she returned the kiss. “Which would you like to call me, Illya . . . Nana or Rebecca?”

His eyes darted to Napoleon and whatever he saw there must have reassured him because they came right back to her. “I called my grandmother, Baba. Would you mind if I called you that?”

“Short for babushka?” Rebecca rolled the word on her tongue and watched him nod shyly. “I would be honored to be your Baba, Illya.” And leaning over, she kissed his cheek, meeting his hug with one of her own. They sat in the early afternoon sunlight, at peace with each other and their world. Rebecca could feel them relax, content and replete with the wonderful meal. “Napoleon, open the cookies. Hannah made them especially for Illya.”

The blond reached the cookie tin first and opened the lid to expose the small cookies layered in wax paper. “They are just like Mama made for Christmas. Are these preserves that Hannah put up this summer?” 

“Yes, except for the walnuts which we collected last fall and the yellow quince which is from the Petersons. The raspberries are from the original canes that Salvatore planted when we first moved here. The deep purple filling is from our blackberry bushes. We have a short growing season but we’re protected from the north wind by our pines so there’s enough time to bring them all to ripeness.” She accepted one of the quince filled cookies and bit into the sweet-tart treat with enjoyment.

Illya was savoring one of the walnut filled cookies and Napoleon was licking away some of the raspberry filling that smeared on his upper lip. The silence was a contented one and each one they tried was declared the best one of all. Until they tried another, finally giving up the judging and enjoying them.

Leaving their picnic things on the table, Rebecca walked the broad path arm in arm with both her grandsons. This time she spoke of Salvatore and their early married years when they were struggling to establish his small business and start a family. She reminisced with the familiar old stories that Napoleon already knew and a few new ones that he’d never heard before.

He was old enough now to know about the first son who died of polio in the 1954 epidemic. Little Reuben was named for her father and only six years old when the high fever and paralyzed lungs spiked and took him before they could get him to the doctor. She still grieved for the bright light taken from her much too soon. But young James had been spared and grown up to have Napoleon and his sisters.

Napoleon asked questions about those early years while Illya wanted to know when she started writing. The journal she’d kept through good times and bad had led her to try her hand at magazine articles when every little bit of extra cash was welcome. Modest success had just fueled the fire of her ambition and she’d begun setting aside time for writing and the freedom it gave her.

Illya understood the need and admitted that he’d begun to sketch again for the sheer joy of creating. Napoleon teased him about his bird watching and his partner teased him right back with the quiet comment that he’d taken to drawing Emperors. For some reason that made her grandson blush bright red and go silent.

Rebecca was looking forward to finding out what that code word meant. In fact, she was looking forward period. Perhaps a trip to New York was in the near future. She had to thank that sweet Alexander Waverly for helping to bring her two boys together. She smiled to herself and mused over the fact that he was a widower. And she was a widow.

The future was looking up.

***************************   
The end of Life’s a Picnic Affair  
***************************   
Russian Tea Cakes (from Mrs. Fields Cookie Book, page 63)

Cookies: Topping:  
1 cup salted butter ½ cup fruit preserves or  
½ cup confectioners’ sugar ½ cup (2 oz.) chopped walnuts  
2 tsp. pure vanilla extract ¼ cup confectioners’ sugar  
2 cups all-purpose flour  
¼ tsp. salt Yield: 2 dozen

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.  
In a large bowl cream butter and sugar using an electric mixer. Add vanilla, scraping down bowl as needed. Blend in flour and salt, mixing until thoroughly combined.  
Roll tablespoonfuls of dough into small balls about 1 inch apart. Press down the center of each ball with a spoon, forming a depression. Fill each with a teaspoonful of preserves or nuts.  
Bake 15-20 minutes or until golden brown. Transfer cookies immediately to a cool, flat surface. When cookies are completely cool, dust them lightly with confectioners’ sugar.

(Absolutely yummy and I have to admit to liking the quince preserves the best.)


End file.
